Thank God For Apathy

Some days you feel like that last, tiny spring in the middle of you, the last coil of you still left unfrayed, is going to give way. You can feel it twig to the right in your chest and away from your heart, and you are certain, you are absolutely confident, that this is it.

You imagine stripping off all your clothes and running barefoot into the middle of the street nearly frozen over with the last autumn rain and screaming something that might really piss off your neighbours.

THERE IS NO GOD, MOTHERFUCKERS! or YOUR CHILDREN WILL NEVER BE ANY BETTER THAN YOU ARE RIGHT NOW!

You don't strip yourself naked and run into the street, though. You sit inside and order takeout and hold on for texts from the Palinode and obsess over making this tree:

It's all you can do, really. You don't like the cold. And you'd like to keep your 38-year-old hindquarters out of public view. And there's a pizza with your name on it that won't order itself.

Sometimes a little touch of apathy can do your neighbourhood a world of good.